


Draco's unique community service experience

by bhangles05



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Drarry, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Hogwarts, Time Travel, hpdm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhangles05/pseuds/bhangles05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to Harry Potter's testimony, Draco no longer has to spend the rest of his days in a cramped Azkaban cell with his father. Instead he must venture into another dimention to aid with their war efforts as a sort of 'community service' to atone for his role in Dumbledore's death. What starts as a ministry initiative to offer help to other worlds in need, turns into Draco's personal journey to prove himself.</p><p>Dedicated to Capitu for their awesome work and seemingly unending drarry rec list that inspired me to start writing this. Thank you :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capitu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu/gifts).



The Ministry gave Draco Malfoy two options.

The first, was to plead guilty to charges for the murder of Dumbledore, and to not only go to Azkaban life, but to share a closet of a cell with his beloved (read:abhorred) father. 

The second was much more complex. Due to perfect Potter testifying on his behalf, the ministry felt that if Draco was given the chance to re-evaluate some of his *cough* hasty *cough* decisions, he’d likely choose the ‘correct’ path, saving many more innocent bystanders from Voldemort earlier on in the war.

Draco was fairly sure that the supposed guilt he felt was a bullshit line that Potter had fed Shacklebolt, but the unlikely had happened, and Draco was gifted with his second choice for the future, or past.

Presented in front of the Wizengamot, Draco had worn his best pressed slacks and a button down shirt, standing tall as he’d been taught as a child, absently fiddling with one of his cufflinks. The tiredness and achy muscles that he’d accumulated from three months in a Ministry holding facility slipped down behind the aristocratic, carefree mask he’d smoothed out during his time in Slytherin.

“Miss Hermione Granger’s invention will allow you to travel, by pensieve to another dimension, that runs parallel to our own. You may stop at any point in time, but will only be able to travel forward from that moment. A representative from the Ministry will supervise your use of the device remotely, recording wrongs that you put right, lives you may save, and any other positive influence that you have on this dimension.”

Shacklebolt paused, surveying the blank looks from both Draco himself and other members of the Wizengamot.

“Think of it as doing community service in another dimension by helping with their war effort.” 

In public, Draco had sneered at the suggestion. Back in his cell however, his mind looped anxiously through possibility after possibility. He was smart. He knew this was his only option, but knowing that the things he was doing would affect another world was big. He thought of all the mistakes he could undo and all the things he could put right. Of course, being the respectable young gentleman he was, he couldn’t let Potter’s testimony go unreciprocated, lest he be left in that speccy git’s debt.

But where to start?

Shacklebolt had made it very clear that the time he started would be the earliest point in the world’s history that he could go. Clearly, they didn’t mean for him to first go sightseeing in ancient wizarding Egypt first, though that did appeal more than launching head first into a battle with the Dark Lord and also carried less risk of immanent death.

One of the other things made clear to Draco was that, should he be hurt or even killed in the alternate dimension, the wounds would appear on his person in real time.

He shook himself mentally. Azkaban with Lucius was as good as death anyway. He could change the outcome of the war. He could provide a divergent universe, one where war-heroes like Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks and even that werewolf mutt Lupin survived.

Where to start though?

Repaying Potter, that was where.

A little rumour around Hogwarts during his first few years there, was that Potter hadn’t liked living with his relatives very much. That was something Draco could definitely relate to.

That gave him a starting place at least.

When the aurors came to unlock his cell later on that day, he’d made his decision. On his way to the supervised pensieve room, a few well placed requests earned him two keys and plastic card with four numbers scribbled hastily on the back.

He was ready.


	2. Harry Potter and his Aunt's Ugly Salivating Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco braves a deformed looking dog for the young Harry Potter as part of his first community service gig.

“Mr Malfoy,” his bushy haired ex-school mate addressed him.

“Granger,” he replied, forgoing any title.

Internally he slapped himself for this. What a way to prove that you’re past blood prejudices, he thought, insult the first mudblood put in front of you.

Really he was quite impressed with Granger. Despite not attending Hogwarts for the past year or so, she’d somehow been able to take all sixteen -Bloody show off- of her NEWTS and pass with flying colours. She’d more than earned the formal dark blue unspeakable robes she wore, yet the Draco couldn’t help but indulge his own haughty habit of looking down on her (and everyone else in the vicinity).

Hermione reached into those robes and drew out a ministry training wand. With it, he’d be able to cast a limited array of spells when he got to the new dimension. 

“Remember, you can start as early or as late as you’d like, but after that you can only travel forwards in time. Your sentence is for three years worth of work, Monday to Friday from 9 – 5 in the pensieve. Should you catch up to ‘real time’ any faster than this you’ll be placed in a new World in Need and the process will start again until you’ve finished the full course.” Granger closed the spiral bound notebook she read from. “Do you understand everything?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and Draco almost expected her to punch him.

“Do you understand enough to get me out of your hair and get started on the project?”

Draco curled his lip up, tilting his head this way and that as he considered the question. “I think so. Who else is doing this though? Are Pans and Blaze?”

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “I don’t think you are permitted to know about their cases, but they were tried a little over a month ago. Mr Zabini opted to live as a muggle, his wand was snapped and the trace was reapplied. He’s doing remarkably well for himself. Miss Parkinson on the other hand…”

Draco stumbled toward her, pulled back by an Auror tugging sharply on his cuffed hands. “What about Pansy? What did she get?”

“She chose Azkaban. Only a four month sentence mind you but I still doubt it’ll be a picnic for her.” Hermione clapped her hands together to end the discussion, thoroughly uncomfortable with talking about Azkaban. She gestured over to the pensieve, leaving Draco to shocked silence.

It was once Dumbledores, which Draco supposed was quite ironic seeing as his main charge was for the old man’s death. The great bowl of the pensieve was now inlaid with more spells than ever, enchanted trinkets and potions were laid out around the edge, presumably for the use of his supervisor, should he think of escaping through the portal. 

Draco felt his hands being uncuffed, but couldn’t take his eyes off the gleaming bowl, images from the past trickling steadily to the surface before falling under again, playing spirals of time in front of his very eyes.

He stepped up onto the dusty step, taking a deep breath, even though it wasn’t completely necessary, and plunging into the bowl, armed with only a training wand, and his two keys and plastic card.

For a moment, he was just a man with his face in a stone bowl, but not a second later he was spiralling in time with the memories. No, he thought, these aren’t memories; they’re time. 

That was when he spied it, lurking between a vision of Potter speaking to his conjured snake (ain’t that a euphemism) back in second year and the Dark Lord entering Godrick’s Hollow on the night he murdered Lily and James Potter.

Briefly, Draco thought about saving the Potter’s as his first act of repayment, but he knew two things about that particular moment. First was that the Dark Lord was at his most powerful, and therefore wouldn’t be defeated by a 19 year old convict with a training wand, and second, Potter made it out alive.

It was the memory next to that one Draco was after.

It showed a much smaller potter, one with matchstick limbs and wild child hair, wearing what looked like a house-elf’s pillowcase with arms stitched on. He was dangling from his arms in a tree, a fat, ugly looking dog snapping at his bare feet beneath him. Draco grimaced, the animal had a deformed nose already but Potter still seemed hesitant to kick it away.

Draco took hold of the scene with both hands, bringing it to his chest and willing himself into this timeframe. 

Good deed number one would be rescuing tiny Potter from ugly animal.

Draco arrived, as if he’d appeared, suddenly coming into being on the due dropped lawn of a sleepy house on Privet Drive. 

Little Potter’s eye’s widened at the sight of Draco, though didn’t let go of the tree. He’s got more sense than I gave him credit for, thought Draco as he aimed his wand at the barking animal. It had somehow managed to salivate in its own eye and it’s ugly face was crinkling around the closed eye. Yummy, he thought.

“Stupify!”

The wand buzzed a little bit in warning.

Draco cursed. Not stupify? Well he was ruddy glad he hadn’t decided to have a show down with Voldy now. He and Granger would be having words.

“Aguamenti!”

A jet of water burst from his wand, shooting the dog off to the far corner of the garden and effectively winding it. It snorted a great big bubble from it’s nose and whimpered as it hefted itself up the step and into the house behind.

Draco shook his wand dry and walked up to mini-Harry.

He smiled, but from the way the other boy flinched, it was about as comfortable as a shark smiling at you. He let his smile drop.

Harry, remembering his manners, nervously rubbed his hands on the ugly smock of a shirt he wore. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Draco, and then on impulse, reached a hand down to ruffle little Harry’s hair.

Har-Potter looked more that a bit confused by the gesture, and Draco honest to God found that adorable. So much so that he was having trouble remembering who he was dealing with. This little boy was so different from his school-yard rival. His green eyes seemed larger, set in such a small face, and they blinked up at Draco, rather than glaring. His hair was fine and hadn’t quite lost it’s childish softness.

“My name is Harry,” Potter told him, as though he was completely unaware that his scar showed under his bangs.

He smirked, “I’m well aware. My name is Dra…” Should he be telling this Harry his name? What if Potter connected the dots when he met the Draco of this dimension? 

Admittedly it was a slim chance. Potter wasn’t the brightest lumos in the world and by the time he got to Hogwarts he’d have Granger to think for him, stinting his own powers of deduction quite firmly. 

“Dray? That’s an unusual name.” 

Draco cringed at the mangled version of his own title. It would have to do.

“It runs in my family.” He patted Harry gently on the back, unable to help himself. This was one of the things he’d dreamed of as a child; being close friends with *gasp* the Chosen One. It was silly, but he’d thought that Potter would accept his friendship, even after he’d made the mistake of insulting both Hagrid and Weasley, just because that was the way his dreams of Harry went.

Perhaps there would be time for that tentative friendship in this timeline?


	3. Harry Potter and the Three Great Lard Lumps

“Boy!” screamed a rough brutish voice from inside, and out trundled the lump that was Harry’s Uncle Vernon.

Vernon was followed shortly by his sister Marge, another great lump. She’d wrapped the ugly dog in towels and was squeezing the creature tight to her bosom, seeming unconcerned for the slobber that the dog had trailed across her floral dress.

The two stopped to take in their blonde visitor, noting the slightly possessive hand Draco was resting on Harry’s shoulder. Vernon took an additional glance at Draco’s wand, unsure as to who he was dealing with. Ever since his wife Petunia had told him about her sister the freak he was cautious even about the most innocuous twigs.

“Did you do this, boy?” Vernon pointed a sausage-like finger in the general direction of Marge’s beloved wet dog.

Harry seemed to cower, turning almost imperceptibly towards Draco who raised an eyebrow at the behaviour.

“And who the hell are you?” Vernon continued, this time addressing the blonde. “You’re kind aren’t welcome on my lawn or on my property!” He all but spat.

At the confused glance he got from Marge he explained. “Bloody sales men!”

“I shall stand on the pavement, then.” Said Draco, taking a small shuffling step back from the grass.

Vernon’s face went through all the red’s and purple’s of a Dulux colour chart, speechless. His son Dudley emerged from the house as well, coming to stand next to his blotchy looking father, a broken water pistol in hand.

“Good grief Potter, how much do your family eat? It’s like being approached by three heavily pregnant Hungarian horntails.”

“Why you… Boy! Here. Now.” Vernon growled, lolloping forward to grab Harry by the ear and drag him back towards the house. When Harry cried out he was back handed across the face.

Draco stepped back onto the lawn.

“Off my bloody lawn you Freak!” yelled vernon, pulling cruelly on the ear he still held.

Draco took another step forward.

As if in warning, Duddly raised the bright plastic pistol and Marge backed up, further crushing her sopping wet dog to her chest.

Draco kept walking forward, a determined look in his eye.

“Get away or I will call the police!” Vernon threatened.

When he reached where the other three stood, Draco calmly put his hands into his pockets. 

“Harry,” he said, in as calm a voice as he could muster. “Come here will you?”

Vernon’s grip on his ear had lessoned and Harry was able to dart out towards Draco.

“What are you doing, Freak!” Vernon spat at them both.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “To which of us are you referring? I for one, am re-evaluating your suitability for guardianship of Harry. Harry on the other hand, is standing behind me. Surely you can’t mean to punish him for merely standing?”

Hardly a master of words, Vernon just growled at the two, it was clear to see who would win a battle of wills between he and Draco.

“Fine, boy! You’ll stay outside tonight.” He ushered his other family members back into the house, then stood at the door and sneeringly address Draco one more time. “I’m calling the police now, so you’d better be gone by the time they get here!” Then he turned tail and darted inside, locking the door behind him.

Left outside on the yellowed lawn, Draco knelt by Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Harry started, though for what the blonde had no idea.

“No need. Listen Harry, would you like to stay with someone else? I know plenty of people that would love to have you live with them. We could even go find your godfather. How about it?” 

The smile Harry gave him for that was brilliant, marred only by the reddening imprint of a hand on his cheek.

“Yes please Dray.”

Oh Merlin, thought Draco, not that name again. 

“I’m changing my name,” he announced. “I am no longer Dray, I am Deimos.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. I will change my name too.”

Oops, thought Draco, how would that affect things if the boy hero changed his name? Everyone knew him by Harry Potter. He was famous by that name? What reason could he possibly have to change it?

“I will be Dray then.”

Draco resisted the urge to slap a hand to his forehead. “No Harry you can’t have that name.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, looking up at the blonde with those big green eyes, mischief twinkling in them. “It’s not taken anymore.”

Are all children this bloody contrary, thought Draco to himself, or is it just because he knows he’s special?

“I’m not calling you that,” Draco warned.

“Then I won’t call you Deymous.”

“That’s not how you say it.”

“It’s how you said it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Draco sighed in defeat. “Fine, let’s go find your godfather shall we? I have an errand to run on the way though.”

He wrapped his arms around tiny Potter’s shoulders, intending to apperate them both, but was surprised to feel the smaller boys hand come round his middle to hug him. Shrugging, Draco decided to believe the boy was starved for affection of something, and with a flick of his wand they disapperated to the burrow with a sharp crack.

Three of the red-headed Weasley clan were out in the garden, tossing gnomes over their hedge, when Draco and Harry arrived. Arthur drew his wand on the blonde immediately.

“What business does a Malfoy have at my home?” he asked, the twins curiously watching their father’s interaction with this complete stranger.

Draco coughed, a nervous habit when he was about to lie, but he hoped that the elder Weasley hadn’t noticed. “I’m a very distant relative of the Malfoy’s you know, Mr Weasley. My name is Deimos. I do have something I need to ask of you, but it is in order to give Harry Potter here,” he slipped in Harry’s full name, “a more stable home environment than the one he was previously in.”

Mr Weasley’s attention roamed to the wide eyed brunette boy, who still clung to Draco even after they’d finished appearing. He searched the boy’s forehead for the iconic scar, not taking his wand from Draco.

“Okay Deimos,” Mr Weasley muttered cautiously, as his eyes tried to follow the pattern of the lightning bolt half obscured by a tuft of fringe. “Say I believe you, what is the favour you wish to ask?”

“Does your family own a pet rat?”

A short time later, after an animagus revealing spell and a trip to the ministry, Sirius Black was declared innocent of all charges.

Harry and Draco stood at the desk of the head auror, along with the entire Weasley clan, younger ones included, waiting for Harry’s godfather to be released. Harry had been completely silent since apperating, not uttering a word but allowing himself to be made much of by Mrs Weasley. He seemed disconcerted to see so much magic, as though he wasn’t used to it. Surely he would get checked up on at the Dursley’s residence, thought Draco. After all, he was Harry Potter, it would be inconceivable that he didn’t know about magic.

“Are you alright, Harry.” Draco asked, looking over the small boy that clung to his shirt with a vice like grip, eyes following spell after spell cast in the ministry, from the paper aeroplane missives flying about above them, to the tea spoon stirring the head auror’s coffee all by itself.

He nodded but Draco wasn’t convinced. “It’s a lot to take in,” mumbled Harry quietly. “How does it all work? Is it electric?”

What?

“No Harry, it’s magic. The same as the magic I used on your Aunt’s god awful animal.”

“Oh.”

Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I thought it was some kind of water gun, like Dudley has.”

Draco’s other eyebrow followed the first, both almost disappearing into his hairline. “They didn’t tell you about magic? Did they tell you who you are? Who your parent’s were?” His voice got higher with every question. He tried to keep it quiet, but he could see that one of the twins was earwigging their conversation and would likely repeat it to the rest of the clan later anyway.

“I don’t know much about magic but one time there was a wizard clown at Dudley’s birthday party. He was good but not as good as you are. I know my mum was Lily and my dad was James and that they died when I was one in a car crash.” He finished, mumbling the last part so quietly Draco had to strain to hear.

Draco’s mind reeled, no wonder Potter had always been so touchy about his parents. He’d been lied to about them. And the magic! He didn’t even know about real magic!

He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, startled again by how thin they were. Didn’t those people feed him? Draco rubbed at them in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Your mother and father were both amazing people, Harry. Your mum was a brilliant, intelligent muggleborn witch and your father was a very brave and loyal pureblood wizard. They were courageous and they stood up to a very bad wizard, but they were betrayed and that was how they died. They didn’t die in a car crash.” Draco finished softly, pulling the boy to him for a hug.

Arthur Weasley was studying them over Draco’s shoulder, perplexed by the open affection this Malfoy was showing young Harry. It didn’t seem faked, nor did it seem to have any reason other than to console the poor boy, but Arthur resolved to keep an eye on Deimos Malfoy all the same.

Harry seemed to sag against Draco, and Arthur was almost afraid that he’d been stunned or cursed, but it wasn’t that kind of slump. It was the kind of slump that signified a weight had been lifted from the scrawny brunette’s shoulders. Arthur smiled to himself. Clearly Deimos knew how to handle children. 

Draco held Harry close to him, keeping him upright as the boy relaxed into the embrace. He had no idea what he was doing. He’d just resolved to keep cuddling little Potter until he moved away. That was what children needed right? Affection and cuddles and reassurances?

A little voice whispered close to Draco’s ear. “And the magic… They were magical? Just like you, Dray?”

“Yes, they were the best at magic. You will be too when you grow up. You’ll be a very powerful wizard and you’ll have lots of people around you that love you.”

Or at least Draco hoped that was true. He knew that interfering so early in Harry’s life would have consequences, perhaps even major ones, to who the boy grew up to be and on his character, but from the blatant hero-worship already evident in Ron Weasley’s Draco didn’t think that would be a problem.

The crack of apparition sounded and an auror appeared escorting a scraggy man covered in prison tattoos. 

Draco was beginning to second guess his decision to not just leave Harry with the Weasley’s until the man under the beard smiled, his eyes dancing with joy and love as they fell on his godson. That was when Draco knew he’d made the right choice after all.

Under Sirius' care, Harry would be loved, welcomed and protected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deimos is one of the moons of Mars


	4. Harry Potter, the Bigger One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter today, but one that's important! Also did a couple of little doodles (on a test! Oops...)

_Big and Little Harry Doodles_

 

Granger stared at him when he released his hold on the pensieve. Her unspeakable robes were rumpled, likely from having been sat by the pool observing Draco’s progress all day, and she brushed them off hastily as she got to her feet. Surprisingly, she handed Draco a warm face towel.

“I find it helps,” she told him. “After long bouts of time in the pensieve, that is.”

He took it cautiously, rubbing his face clean of the magical residue that pensieves had a tendency to leave on one’s face. Thank you, Granger.”

She took the towel from him and placed it over by the edge of the pensieve, gathering a few things while she was there. The first he recognised as a small corked vial for storing memories in.

“We have to keep exact records of everything that you do in the other dimension,” Granger explained. “It’s helpful for us because it provides information on different timelines to our own, and for you because it means no one can debate that you’ve not served your full sentence at the end of three years.”

Draco just shrugged, still hesitant to be on the wrong end of Granger’s wand as she took a complete copy the past day’s memories from him, lifting the silvery strand with her wand and coiling it neatly into the vial.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to tell Harry what happened today.”

“Why?” was all Draco said. “To show him what could have been if someone had known about his relatives earlier? Isn’t that just cruel?”

He had no idea where this sudden need to protect the wondrous Chosen One’s feelings had come from, but attributed it to the minor attachment he now had for the smaller Harry. Also, supplied Draco’s mind, we can’t have Scarhead thinking we’ve gone soft now can we?

Hermione shuffled from foot to foot, examining the memory in the vial curiously. “No, I think he’d want to know, and I think it might help him feel better for testifying in your defence. Plus I believe that Harry would want other versions of himself to be happy. He’s grown a lot, Malfoy, what you have seen is completely behind him now.”

“You’re right, Hermione,” came a deeper voice from the door, and in waltzed Potter, red auror robes buttoned up neatly at the front, epaulets squaring off his shoulders.

He had those same green eyes as little Potter, except his seemed just a tiny bit more blue, like turquoise rather than emerald.

Potter came to stand in front of him. “Malfoy, shall we take you back to your room.”

And by room he meant cell.

Draco shrugged again, offering his wrists for cuffing.

“Not very talkative today are you?” Potter tried to joke.

Draco supposed that little Potter was to blame, as ever since he was young, when he found someone he liked, Draco almost entirely subconsciously mirrored their mannerisms. Besides, he had the distinct feeling that anything he had to say now would be entirely the wrong thing.

"Listen,” said Potter, as they walked down the Ministry corridors back to Draco’s cell. “I think it’s very admirable of you to give this a shot. I know three years is a lot, but it’s a lot less than life. Now I do want to watch what you did today, especially if it concerns me.”

Draco made to cut in.

“Nope, if Hermione thinks I should see it, well, let’s just say I’ve learned it’s best not to question her judgement. I’ll probably hear about it whether I like it or not.”

Draco shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. Say something, his mind urged him. Say something now to give yourself an excuse for acting so touchy feely with the brat.

“You were a cute kid.”

Harry looked startled. “Kid? I assumed you’d start later on… third year perhaps, although that still only makes us thirteen.” He chuckled. “The beginning of my angsty teenage phase.”

“Yes, I remember you being particularly awful that year.” But to Draco’s surprise his voice didn’t hold nearly the amount of spite that it usually did when confronting Potter. On the contrary, it almost seemed banterous.

“Geez Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hide the smile there. They stopped in front of the clean ministry cell. “Anyway, I best be getting back to my er duties. Someone will be back with a meal for you in a bit. Hermione and I are looking into whether you can go home in between sessions with the pensieve but for now…”

He gestured to the box like cell, equipped with bed, toilet and wash basin.

Draco sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He strode into the cell, offering his hands for Potter to uncuff.

“And Potter,” Draco called, after Harry had locked the cell and turned his back on the blonde. “By any chance could I have some books down here? I need some.”

Harry turned, his robes swinging with him. “Yeah sure, what kind of books?”

“Anything you can get me on childcare.”


	5. Hermione Granger and the Great Stone Bowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm ALLIIIVVVEEE

The next day, the books were delivered with breakfast. Draco didn’t read too long. All the books readily available on childcare came from the desk of a senior auror away on maternity leave so each and every one focused on children much younger than Draco’s little Harry.

  
He put down ‘The unmumsy mum’ with a sigh, then looked up at the sound of keys jangling outside the cell. A new day meant a new pensive session after all.

  
“Hi Malfoy,” Harry said with a smile. After their conversation yesterday, and probably also from what Hermione had told him about the day before’s session, Harry seemed more at ease when he collected Draco from his cell.

  
They bickered a little on their way to granger and the transdimentional pensieve, but not in an unkind way. It was just their nature to fight, like they always had, simply for the fear at the different outcomes. The last time Draco had offered his hand to Potter at school he’s been rejected.  
He was tempted to extend his hand again but…

  
Wasn’t doing the same thing over and expecting different results the definition of madness?

  
When they got to the room, Granger was already waiting for them, stirring the pensieve briskly with her wand and taking some readings.

  
“Granger!” Draco greeted. “I have a few questions about the current swimming pool of choice before I go in.”

  
Hermione looked up, tapping her wand on the side of the basin to flick the silver drips from it.

  
She wiped the wand on her robes. “Go on Malfoy,”

  
“When I eat in the pensieve, do I feed my body here?”

  
“Yes,” Granger said decisively. “The pensieve creates a tangible extension of your consciousness in the other world but you never actually travel there. Anything you eat however is entirely real and in order to maintain the tangibility of your form, the spell moves the item to where it would sit in your real form.”

  
“Right, then I’m ready.”

  
Granger lifted her eyebrows. “That’s your only question? Whether you can eat there?”

  
At this, Draco just smirked. “I’ve got priorities, Granger.”

  
Shrugging she turned to the pensieve. Draco could see she already had the warm towel under a heating spell on the side next to the bowl. His first day was stored in a labelled little bottle in the cabinets above, though it had no doubt been duplicated and secreted away in a vault somewhere, as things usually were with unspeakables.

  
Draco went to his place by the pensieve, and taking a deep breath, slowly submerged his face.


End file.
